


Clandestine

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: The Strokes
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-07
Updated: 2003-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clandestine

**Author's Note:**

> Just moving some stuff over from Livejournal.

the bags under julian's eyes (which are always there any more, because he has trouble enough sleeping in a stationary bed, much less one that's speeding along highways at sixty five miles an hour) taste like salt and the creases around the corners of his mouth when he smiles (which he's been doing a lot lately, which he's doing right now, as a matter of fact) taste of mary jane and faded aftershave.  
  
they've been on the road for twenty three days and have played more venues already than any of them can keep track of, and it's gotten exceedingly difficult to find places to be alone (together, ha). fab thinks it's lucky they're all so affectionate because no one seems to notice when his mouth stays resting on julian's a little longer than usual, a little longer than might be considered strictly necessary.  
  
'hi,' julian whispers, looking faded in the moonlight that filters through the dirty windows. fab traces the outline of his face with slow steady fingers, all the jittery energy of the daytime drained out through his drumsticks, which have rolled under the bed to join the jumble of shoes and cd cases and god knows what else.  
  
'hi,' fab whispers back, and looks around to make sure everyone else is asleep before he dips his head and kisses julian, tasting exhaustion on his lips.  
  
when they fuck it's hurried, rushed, gasps stifled in the cotton-blend pillowcases, and the sheets stick to their skin.  
  
it's never enough, fab thinks as he watches julian's eyes flutter shut, a sleepy snort from albert or maybe nikolai making him jump, it's too fast too hard too risky, but it'll do for now, because it's better (so much better) than nothing, because nothing would be intolerable.  
  
he counts the days until the tour is over, and always finds the time too long.


End file.
